Deception Island (15 page)

“Is love a choice?”

She lowered her gaze, eyelashes brushing her cheekbone. “I don't think so, but I'm not the person to ask. Maybe some people just can't love, like my father. My mother tried to protect me sometimes—I don't know if that counts—but her fear of my father was greater than any feeling she might have had for me. Jasper's the only person I've loved—thought I loved—and that was so destructive it's hard to even remember what it felt like, beyond an all-consuming desperation.” She met his gaze. “Is that what love is, for normal people? Is that what it was like for you and your wife?”

“You forget, princess—I'm far from a normal person. I was wrong to think I could be. Simone and I...” He leaned his head back and stared into the cobalt sky. What was he doing, telling all this to a stranger when he'd never spoken to anyone about it before—never even allowed his own brain to process it? When he dropped his head, those blue eyes were holding their position, waiting for him to return to her when he was ready. She wasn't playing him now—she genuinely wanted to know. And for some reason he ached to tell her. Somehow, talking to her calmed him, right to his soul. He could do with a bit of calming—a lot of calming.

“She loved me, but I could never love her back, not the way she wanted. She got pregnant not long after we met, and I married her because it was the expected thing—her family is very traditional. I guess I liked the idea of having a family, after yearning for one as a child, and I tried to choose to love her, but it didn't work like that. I discovered I'm the kind who's not capable of loving a woman. And for her...it could be dangerous, as you might have figured out.”

“So she called it off?”

“She died, suddenly.”

Holly's eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Natural causes,” he added, quickly.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I'd assumed...” She bit her lower lip.

“You assumed my wife had given up on being married to such a difficult man? You were right. If she hadn't died, she would have divorced me eventually. I think she believed that if she tried hard enough she'd dig to the bottom of me, that I'd let her in. We were together five years, and she didn't even get under my skin.” He frowned. Yet, here he was talking to a con woman like she was a psychiatrist, or worse, a friend. “I made a mistake by dragging Simone into my life, and I messed up hers. It won't happen again.”

“What if you meet someone else, and feel whatever it is people feel?”

You mean someone with eyes as blue as the sky, who gets in under my defenses and creates an itch that begs me to abandon self-control and plunge into her, body and mind and soul?
“Far too dangerous, for both of us.” Time to detour the conversation away from him. “How about you? What if you meet someone—would you take the risk again?”

He smoothed out the crease between her eyes. A habit he was developing. She dropped her gaze to his leg and yanked her hand off it, as if she hadn't realized it was there.

“No, too dangerous,” she said.

“You must have been very angry, when Jasper betrayed you.” He should stop asking questions, get on with the job at hand. But talking to her, it made him feel...
good
.

Merde
.
Good
was not good.

“Oh, believe me, I was angry. Afterwards, the prison shrink explained that a situation like that...it's like going through grief. I guess you would know this—there's this series of stages you're supposed to pass through. It's some psychological theory. You start at shock and denial, and then you get the pain, and then anger, and then you really crash—loneliness, misery. But after a long time down there at the bottom, there comes an upswing. You kind of accept that this is what's happened, and you're supposed to get all energized with hope again.”

If that was his journey, he was stuck at denial and anger. The only hope he harbored was that Theo would grow into a good man, and one day a good father, and perhaps that small thing would absolve some of Rafe's sins.

He frowned, catching up to her last words. “
Supposed to
have hope? You don't have hope?”

“I did allow myself a little, I guess, when I left prison.” Her mouth softened, looking as if it might turn up if she let it. “But then some bastard kidnapped me from my yacht.”

“Ah. Yes. Don't worry, princess, I'll get you back your hope. Maybe you'll even meet someone who surprises you, one day.” Not that any man could be a match for her, criminal record or not.

“I don't think I could bring myself to give in like that again.”

“Not every man's like Jasper.”

“I know that. I know there are good people out there. I guess it's not even about him anymore, it's about the person I became when I was with him. I got too needy, too desperate, and that made me vulnerable. I don't want to be that person again. I like being in charge of my mind and my life—at least, I think I will, when I get a life again. It's just safer to be alone. Anyway, I don't think I could let myself give in to someone again—and you can't love halfheartedly, can you? You can't keep something back, or it doesn't work. It's an all-or-nothing thing, right?”

“You're thinking aloud? Because there's no point asking me.” He picked up the knife and resumed working the knot.
Safer to be alone
. No shit.

She laughed, the sound filtering in through his pores and warming him up. “I'm having a philosophical conversation about love on a tropical island with a pirate who kidnapped me, and I'm wondering why my life isn't normal?”

“Maybe you could find ‘normal.' And when you do, tell me what it's like.”

“That's my plan. When this is over, I'll become someone else—literally. Move to some forgotten place somewhere in the world where my old life can't catch up with me, and start again. Number one rule: keep my distance.”

That's just what he'd done. Only his old life had caught up.

“People only mess up your plans,” she continued. “As you have demonstrated. That's if...”

“...if I haven't ruined it for you. You were relying on getting paid for your mission.”

“‘Normal' will be difficult without some cash, yes.”

“Do you have
any
money?”

“Not enough to pay you a ransom, if that's why you're asking. But I do have a little. I insisted the senator give me a down payment. No more than pocket money, really—it was a pay-on-completion deal—but if I can get to a big enough town around here I should be able to access it. After that, I don't know. Go off the grid, I guess, and figure it out from there. There's nothing for me back in the States.”

He pocketed the knife. He didn't have a lot of money, didn't need a lot—it all went to Theo and Simone's mother—but he couldn't leave her stranded. “I will give you the money you need.”

“I don't want your money.”

“You're getting it. I'll go on the internet now and wire it to your account.”

“Buying off your guilt?”

“Something like that.”

Money was a small price to pay for getting her off his conscience. As soon as she was taken care of, he'd block her from his mind, lock away the memory of licking her salty skin deep in the vault in his soul where he kept everything that had the potential to harm him.

“Here, I've loosened it. You can do the rest.” He held out the rope.

She grabbed his hand instead, letting the rope fall to the grass, and threaded her fingers through his. The touch ignited sparks up his arm, as if his nerves were still undecided about whether she was a threat or an opportunity.

“I can be of use to you, Rafe. We're a team—you said that.” A new note rang in her voice. Desperation. Precisely what she'd just said she feared.

“On this I work alone. I've seen what Gabriel's militia do to their victims. Best way you can help is to get out of here and live your life—or someone else's life.” He should break contact. So why the hell did he trace one finger of his free hand up her throat and tilt up her chin? “You're afraid. You haven't shown fear—real fear—since I grabbed you from that yacht. Now your eyes have lost their bravado. Why now? I know I don't deserve your trust, but I promise you I'll keep my word.”

“I believe you will. And I'm not afraid of anything. Except death. I'm kinda afraid of death—just for the record.” Her eyes creased into a smile of sorts, but her voice wavered. Trying to cover for the rising panic?

“That's a healthy fear. But there is something else you fear. Nothingness. Loneliness.”

“I'm very good at being alone.”

“Big difference between being alone and being lonely. Tell me you have someone you can rely on.”

She tried to shake her head free, to look away. He held her gently but firmly. Her eyes had proved more honest than her words.

“Really? No one at all?” he said. Shit. Even he had Flynn, and maybe a few other guys. Not that he and Flynn usually discussed anything more personal than ammunition and targets, but a fractured soul could sense another. One night many years ago, after a few too many whiskies, they'd shared their sorry histories, trusting each other with deep secrets and then burying them forever. Flynn's eyes had the same dead look Rafe saw in the mirror every day. In all the time they'd served together—maybe nine years—the guy had never failed Rafe, as a lieutenant or, yes, a friend.

“Come on, Rafe. I'm on your team, remember? You could use some help, I can help.”

“No, princess. Very soon, we part ways and you start over. You're a remarkable woman. You could live a remarkable life.”

For the first time, he knew he was looking at the real Holly—the fragility that lay behind the strength. The fragility fired up his protective streak, the strength drew him to her like a magnet snapping to metal. He wanted to explore her in every way possible. It was more than just an urge for physical release—every piece of him wanted the corresponding piece of her. His mind wanted to know everything about her, his body wanted to feel every part of her against him. There was an unfamiliar pull in his chest that made him want to...

Her gaze floated down to his lips. Her mouth parted.
Yes, that
.

Chapter 15

Slowly, Rafe lowered his mouth to Holly's, closing his eyes at the moment of contact, so he could channel his senses into just that one silky touch, like taking a last sip of water in the desert. She stilled. He waited. She squeezed his fingers and slid her other hand up his thigh, over his shorts, settling on his hip.

He cradled her neck, urging her closer. A bead of sweat trailed down his back. She dug her fingers into his waist, giving him all the invitation he needed to explore her mouth. She tasted salty and sweet. The breath of her sigh danced over his tongue. She untangled their hands and swiveled onto his lap, wrapping her bare legs around him, linking her feet behind his back.
Mon Dieu
. It was too much—and not nearly enough.

He pressed the finger pads of both hands into her scalp, not trusting himself to go lower, as much as he yearned to explore the scrap of fabric that barely covered her
derrière
, to dig his fingers into that soft flesh and press her against the part of him that begged for more. Instead, he concentrated on the kiss, groaning as she responded with equal urgency. She trailed her fingers up his back, over his shoulders, down his chest and settled again on the sides of his waist. She found his belt loops and tugged him closer. Every nerve and tendon and muscle strained with the craving to lose himself in her, to find that blissful state where he was both hyperaware and beyond the reach of reality. The point he lost control.

The point he didn't dare go. He reared his head, breaking the kiss, sunlight searing his eyes even through his eyelids.

“Rafe.” Her voice was velvet with desire.

If only he could lay her gently on the grass, slip off the clothes that separated them, and taste and touch every part of her, filling the air with her sighs and groans, atoning for everything he'd done to hurt her. But if he allowed one kind of emotional release, what tsunami of darker urges would flood out?

He drew away his hands, skating them down to rest on her hips. Unable to speak, he touched his forehead to hers, his chest still heaving. She closed her eyes and linked her fingers behind his neck. They stayed like that a minute, two minutes, waiting for the world to return to equilibrium.

“I need to know you're safe,” he said, once the roar of his desire had faded into the buzzing of insects and lapping of the tide. “From people who want you dead, and from me. I don't want the responsibility of this.” And he didn't want to be her next Jasper. She needed a normal man, as much as she claimed she didn't. Someone who could teach her how to love without the fear she carried—of violence, of being abandoned. Rafe would destroy her like he had Simone, even if it was the last thing he wanted.

He eased her backward on his lap, closer to the more neutral territory of his knees. Not that any territory felt neutral under her touch. She unlinked her legs and let them fall either side of him. With the fingers of one hand he smoothed the reddened skin around her neck, where he'd gripped her in a fury he hadn't known he could still feel. If only he could erase the mark, erase the event. He pulled her into an embrace, inhaling her salt-and coconut-scented hair. She rested her cheek on his shoulder.

“I think I've proved I'm not to be trusted,” he said.

“Then why do I feel safer right now than I have in my entire life?”

“Because you're just as screwed up as me.”

She laughed, her breath tickling his neck. A cool breeze floated in from the lagoon. He pulled her tighter, and she responded. A real hug. Two people seeking nothing but comfort from each other. When was the last time he'd been able to enjoy the simple pleasure of holding a woman? Had he ever?

“Does this feel as unreal for you as it does for me?” She stroked her fingers down his arm.

“You feel unreal. Everything else feels far too real. Maybe it's the tropics driving us mad. You know what the local name for this island translates as?”

“What?”

“Deception Island. Appropriate, yes?”

“Ha. I'm guessing they don't tell the honeymooners that.”

He eased her away, far enough to cradle her face and look into her eyes. “Holly, I'm sorry, for before, what I did when I found out about Laura. It was unforgivable.”

“Like you said, it wasn't you.”

“It was me—a part of me I keep buried—but it was me. And it was a warning, to you. I'm not a safe man. I have urges—dangerous urges. No matter how deeply I bury them, no matter how much concrete I pour over them, they can still break through. You don't want to be there when it happens.”

“I understand. I forgive you,” she said, quietly, tracing a finger across his pecs. He caught her hand and moved it away. No more of that.

“You shouldn't.”

“But you're right. Perhaps it's just as well we might not see each other again after tomorrow—for both of us.” Her voice held no humor anymore. “It's not so much the physical threat of you, but what you could do to my heart. Because...” She linked her fingers through his and squeezed, looking at their entwined hands. “
This
. It kind of works, right? We
work
,
somehow.”

He nodded, an unfamiliar feeling drying his throat. “I don't want to hurt you. And I would eventually. Two wounded souls will only wound each other deeper.” He leaned in and kissed her grazed cheek. “Speaking of tomorrow, princess, we have work to do.” He inhaled her scent one last time and, reluctantly, lifted her off him.

“Can I help?”

“Body retrieval isn't pretty work for princesses.”

“Lucky I'm not a princess.”

“Closest I'll get to one.” He stood. “But since you're not a princess, you can start gathering everything we'll need to set up camp—food, water, clothes...” He walked away, his tread less certain than it should be, retrieved the safety rope from where it had fallen, shoved it into the bag along with the parachute and hoisted the main line onto his shoulder.

“I'll be back in an hour.”

“Oui,
Capitaine
,”
Holly said from the picnic bench, her back to him.

At least a dead body would sort out his priorities. Because that kiss sure didn't.

* * *

For a long time after Rafe disappeared up the path to the cliff, Holly sat motionless on the picnic bench, staring unseeing at the lagoon. Holy crap, that was intense. Her chest ached with an emotion she hadn't felt since the early days with Jasper—desperation, churned up with need. The kind of feeling that got her in trouble.

Somehow, she'd landed in the dangerous situation of trusting Rafe—worse, of freaking
caring
about him. Instinct should be screaming at her to run the other way. Instead, it was urging her closer. So much for being older and wiser. Talking to him just now...it'd made her realize that though she'd long ago shaken off her anger for Jasper—because what was the point?—she was terrified of becoming that obsessed again. And she could so easily get obsessed with Rafe. The way he kissed her, the way his words and his gaze cut right into her... She leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers to temples, staring at the flattened grass at her feet.

You're just as screwed up as me
, he'd said. Was that the problem? She felt connected with him because he seemed to understand her—and she thought she understood him. What would a life with him be like? She and Rafe and Theo, all living some harmonious existence in... Hell, she didn't even know what continent he lived on. Yep, they sure weren't normal people. Did that make them perfect for each other, or as wrong as it got?

Two wounded souls will only wound each other deeper.

She pushed herself up. The ground swayed. She grabbed the bench, willing her land legs to return. Wrong. It was all wrong. She straightened, warily. No, that wasn't quite true—one thing had gone completely to plan. She'd been wildly successful in her mission to get Rafe to feel something for her, enough to stop him killing her—just—and enough to make him kiss the bejesus out of her. Trouble was, now she wanted him, too, so badly, in all sorts of ways she shouldn't be imagining.

She wandered into the cabin, running a finger over her lips. She'd have to pack her ChapStick. She was out of practice at kissing—and she'd never been kissed like that. His stubble had felt so addictively masculine, rasping against her as his earthy scent filled her airways. A sweet torture for her body, but real torture for her skin. He'd kissed her like he'd meant it, his initial gentleness making her ache with the pleasure of being needed and wanted, and needing and wanting in return.

Then she'd yielded to the need to crank things up, and he'd responded, except that he'd kept his hands on her face, instead of exploring the parts of her that screamed for his touch. Through her bikini bottoms she'd felt his thick, hard need pressing into her as strongly as she'd felt her own desire—yet he'd kept the action above her neck, as if it was more than just her body he was interested in. And, God, that was sexy. If a little frustrating.

That was one thing she'd never felt with Jasper, or the few other men—boys, really—she'd been with. And Jasper would never have let his conscience pull him away. He didn't have a conscience. Rafe was all conscience—well, aside from the whole kidnapping thing.

She began throwing her scattered belongings into a heap. His few clothes were folded into perfect flat squares. He even did laundry with military precision.

Damn, he
kissed
with military precision. She'd lost herself for several long, sweet minutes. That one wasn't like their kiss last night, on the bed. Her body had responded then, sure, but her mind had been driven by a strategy that had little to do with desire—emotional, or physical.

The kiss in the water and the one on the cliff had been all strategy on his part. But that kiss just now, it was both of them stripped naked. No pretenses, no defenses. It'd seemed natural to open up to each other physically, after opening their souls and sharing their secrets.

Why the hell did she think she could trust this guy? She hadn't known him forty-eight hours. The number one lesson of her last decade? She was better off alone than putting her faith in anyone else. Twenty miles from Nowheresville—that's where she belonged, that was the dream that'd kept her sane in jail.

But now that she had a chance to make it real, its bleakness and emptiness made her stomach curl. Dammit.
There is something you fear—nothingness, loneliness
.
She hurled a sneaker at her collected clothes. It plowed through them like a bowling pin and bounced off a wall. No. No way. Those were the things she craved.

But talking to Rafe, kissing him, being with him—it made her feel...alive. The buzz of bouncing flirty banter off a man with a quick mind, the rush of connecting with someone, the pull of physical attraction...

She kicked everything back into a heap. Dang, she needed to get out of this crazy place that screwed with her head, and away from the man who made her feel so raw and exposed, and...goddamned hopeful. Deception Island, huh? Looked like the person she was deceiving was herself.

* * *

The white light of the midday sun had given way to the gold of late afternoon by the time a splashing in the shallows heralded Rafe's return.

“Ugh. I smelled you before I saw you,” Holly said, as he trudged up from the sand—shirtless again, of course, the low sun warming his skin to the color of burnt caramel. Pity the improvised body bag over his shoulder ruined the view.

He laid it on a patch of shaded grass, as gently as if the guy was merely injured. He'd wrapped the body in the parachute and secured it with the ropes and about a roll of duct tape so nothing was visible, though liquids she didn't want to think about seeped through dark patches in the fabric. She shuddered, and yanked the last of the clothes from the washing line.

“It'll be worse by tomorrow,” he said, strolling over, “but hopefully they won't stop to distinguish between a one-day-old body and a two-day-old one. Can't imagine they're going to want to ID this guy before they dispose of him.”

“It looks pretty bulky—will they believe it's me?”

“I've wrapped it in a couple of towels, to soak up some of the fluids.”

“Fluids. Oh, God.” She retched, shoving her palm over her mouth.

“Sorry, princess.” He dropped the parachute pack and pulled his forearm across his chest, stretching his shoulder. She didn't even pretend she wasn't checking out the straining muscles—it took her mind off the corpse, at least. He repeated it with the other arm, too lost in thought to notice her attention.

“Here,” he said, pulling something out of his pocket and laying it on the picnic table.

“An iPhone?”

“Counterfeit, and an older model, but it seems to work. Faint connection to a network, but no GPS. It was switched off, so it's got a little battery left—enough for an email or phone call or two, if nothing else. Take it. We'll be able to remain in contact once I'm off the island.”

Remain in contact. That thought really shouldn't appeal like it did.

“You're not leaving me the sat phone?”

“I have to risk taking it, in case my guy responds. Can I trust you not to murder me in the night if I return this?” He placed her pocketknife on the table.

She met his eyes. “You can trust me.”

He held her gaze for a few seconds, assessing her, then gave a swift nod. “You done packing?”

Before he could change his mind, she zipped the knife and phone into the pockets of her cargoes. “I've packed pretty much everything—which took all of about two minutes.” She waved a hand at her backpack, now stuffed with clothes and leaning on a pole on the veranda, next to a pile of bedding and towels and kitchen stuff, and the first-aid kit. “I figure we'll only take as much food as we need for the night, and leave the rest refrigerated for now.”